


Metaphors Are Not Microwave-Safe

by kayliemalinza



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, dodgy aliens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-07
Updated: 2008-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Gwen are stuck on an alien ship. Ianto comes to rescue them! He'd rather he didn't have to. Jack abuses his wrist-strap and Gwen gets a lesson in grammar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metaphors Are Not Microwave-Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Season 2

"Is this like owning the best umbrella in the world, then forgetting it at home the first time it rains?" Gwen asked.

"Yes," said Jack. "Except instead of the best umbrella in the world it's a Norfixian defibrillator, and instead of leaving it at home we stripped it for spare parts in 1962."

"So... it's not like the umbrella thing," said Gwen.

"Not at all," said Jack. "But keep working on those metaphors, they'll really help us in the end."

Gwen crossed her arms and tilted her head in reproach. "No need to be like that," she said over the slippery clinks of the quicksilver chain. The loop around her left arm was digging in coldly above the elbow.

Jack ignored her for a moment, straining away from the fat pipe at his back. The chain sliced across his chest in a thin line that had already creased his coat lapels and the links slithered against each other, but didn't break.

"Jack," Gwen said. "You don't need to be so negative. I'm only trying to get a handle on the situation."

"There's not much more of a handle to _get!_ We're—" Jack cut himself off and sighed deeply. His hair quivered in the slant grey lighting as his head drooped and he said, much more calmly, "We just need to work out a plan."

"Absolutely," said Gwen. "What sort of plan?"

"Well," said Jack, glancing around at the myriad boxes and mechanical parts that were all out of reach, crammed into the corners of the maintenance room they were in. "You've got the metaphors covered, and I'm going to press random buttons on my wrist-strap and hope something happens." He twisted the bulky sleeve of his coat up his arm and set at the wrist-strap controls with great force.

Gwen shifted to a more comfy position against the boiler type thing she was chained to—not that boiler-type things had many comfy positions to offer, especially with the bottom rusted out—and gazed determinedly around the room. That bit of debris was as thin as an empty banana peel, she decided, and the smudge on the wall next to it was like a really ugly dress, making everything else on the clothes rack look better by comparison. This implied that the rest of the wall was like the other clothes on the rack, and thusly Gwen only thought its greenish-pink color was nice because the smudge was so disturbing. Metaphors were kind of gross, Gwen decided. "Any luck so far?" she asked Jack.

"No," he growled, and clanged the wrist-strap against the pole. "I can't believe this is completely dead. It must be due to a dampening field, but any kind of field has to be insanely advanced to get around all my shields like this!" he said indignantly. The wrist-strap remained stubbornly dark and he stroked the round crystal face of it, frowning.

"I thought you said their weapons systems were archaic!" Gwen cried out. "You said that with the right equipment, disabling them would be as easy as _pie_. Which is a metaphor, by the way. You were getting on my territory."

"It's archaic compared to the Norfixian defibrillator," Jack explained, "but these ship's systems make your cell phone look like two tins cans connected by a string. And 'as easy as pie' is a simile, not a metaphor."

Gwen blinked at him. "I thought they were the same thing."

Jack shook his head. "No, a simile uses—" His wrist-strap suddenly beeped, and the door to the room slid open. "Wow," he said. "Somebody out there must like us."

"Not enough to take care of the chains, apparently," Gwen said, flexing her left hand. It felt numb.

" _Someone_ ," said a voice in the corridor, "likes having the day off once in a while." Ianto stepped into the room wearing jeans with ragged hems and a vividly yellow shirt. His hair was sticking up in the back. "It's not even noon yet," he said disgruntledly. "I had to chase four terrestrial squids with a couple of glowsticks and lock them in their squidly bathroom and it's not even _noon_."

"Glowsticks?" asked Gwen.

"These aliens must be extremely photosensitive," Jack said musingly. "Explains why everything is so dim in here."

"It's 11:45," said Ianto, holding up his very flash wristwatch. "I was planning to eat an omelet this morning. With _peppers_. And mushrooms, and finely chopped leeks."

"I'll make it up to you," Jack said wholeheartedly.

"Absolutely!" agreed Gwen.

Ianto gave them both a mildly skeptical look, slinging his backpack around and pulling something rectangular out of it.

"I'll fetch all the take-away for a month," Gwen offered.

"Lots of sex," said Jack, wriggling his shoulders alluringly as Ianto pointed the rectangle at the chains and made it go beep. The 'beep' sounded awfully familiar. It was difficult to tell from Gwen's angle, but it seemed that the panel had a display screen with green numbers, counting down from twelve.

"That's not a very good promise," she said. "You two would be having lots of sex anyway."

"At least I'll follow through," Jack sniped. "You'll get the take-away maybe twice before you forget."

Gwen narrowed her eyes, but couldn't think of anything to say except 'No I wouldn't!' which didn't sound convincing even in her head. Instead she asked uneasily, "Is that part of a microwave? The _Hub's_ microwave?"

"That must be where most of the spare parts of the Norfixian defibrillator ended up," Jack said, letting out an enormous sigh as the chain fell apart at every link and cascaded to the floor.

Ianto nodded, moving over to free Gwen. "Toshiko, thankfully, kept very careful records of all the tech she cobbled together," he said. "When she re-purposed parts, she tracked down where they were originally from if at all possible." He aimed the panel at Gwen and set it to 'defrost.'

"But—" Gwen squirmed as the quicksilver chains pulsed against her skin. "Why did she modify the _microwave_?"

"Standard sterilization procedure against exotic lifeforms," Jack shrugged. He clambered to his feet and swiped at the smears of floor-grime on the seat of his pants. He grinned at Gwen. "Ever eaten leftovers that could talk back?"

"No!" cried Gwen. She looked at Ianto in horror. "Have I?"

Ianto's mouth quirked, and he concentrated very hard on the microwave door. "Never," he said reassuringly. "The modifications are just a precaution. There have been very few incidents in Torchwood history of sentient take-away." The microwave beeped and Gwen's chains trickled down.

"Well, that's good," Gwen said uncertainly, and rubbed at the red line where the chain had dug into her arm. Her hand flared up in pins and needles and she pouted.

"OK team, let's go," Jack instructed as he offered Gwen a hand up. "My wrist-strap has a pretty good idea of the schematics here. I think I know the quickest way out."

"I'm parked by the mid-lateral entrance," Ianto supplied helpfully. "And I think I spotted the SUV in a field on the way over. The sheep were giving it a wide berth."

"Fabulous," Jack said dryly. "By the way," he drawled, slipping an arm around Ianto's waist as they both peered out the door. "I love the jeans."

Ianto smirked. "I almost came in my pajamas."

Jack brushed his mouth against Ianto's ear and murmured, "Remind me to take that out of context later."

"Jack," said Gwen as they crept into the flickering corridor. "As soon as we get back, I want to learn more about this leftovers issue. And you never finished explaining what a simile is."


End file.
